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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25757401">To End My Days With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/truly/pseuds/truly'>truly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975), Picnic at Hanging Rock (TV), Picnic at Hanging Rock - Joan Lindsay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tenderness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:43:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25757401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/truly/pseuds/truly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of traveling for the holidays, Michael returns to Lake View for the winter after all. What follows is a confession and the aftermath.</p><p>Or, something of a companion to Chapter 14 of the book, a "how it should've gone if Joan Lindsay drank pure, unfiltered Make It Gay Juice."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Albert Crundall/Michael Fitzhubert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To End My Days With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I finally read the book a few nights ago after years of only seeing the 1975 film and like. Wow. It wasn't just me hoping for a subtext Michael and Albert really are gay :')</p><p>I wrote this with the book in mind, but I think it can still be understood by fans who have only ever seen the film or miniseries. That's just the power of these two, imo.</p><p>Btw I went with Michael rather than Mike for the majority of the thing, even though I know, I know he told Albert to call him by the nickname and all the tender implications behind it. I tried for clarity before I lost it all in vicarious pining. And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to faint dramatically upon a chaise lounge for maximum effect. Somebody get me some smelling salts, please.</p><p>Also I apologize in advance. This is a mess, longer than I ever intended, my first published smut to boot but by god I Tried.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chill of the wind bites at his skin, cold air burning in his lungs. Nothing stirs but the quiet patter of snow drifting in the breeze. Winter has descended upon Macedon like birds returning home to roost in a flurry of white, and Michael Fitzhubert has flown back with them.</p><p>Certainly he may have said he'd spend the winter holidays away from Lake View. And he did try. He tried to distract his mind from the Hanging Rock mystery. He tried to put on big smiles and brighter airs for his aunt and uncle as they began their trip to warmer weather. But it all weighed too heavily on his mind, the dreams of dark caverns and the missing girls. Miss Irma Leopold, potential betrothed one moment and forgotten heiress the next. The one called Miranda jumping cleanly over the creek only to become a swan in flight. The white summer frocks disappearing into the dense unknown green, never to be seen again. And Albert, dear dependable Albert like a steady rock in the midst of a tempest, always ready to help even if he thinks Michael has gone mad.</p><p>And so Michael came back, claiming the traveling wasn't agreeing with him, that he forgot something important back at Lake View, and really what is so terrible about spending winter there even if most of the staff had gone away? A house is a house. Even just four walls and a roof could keep the cold out. Anything else is extra. Excess. <em>Excuses</em>.</p><p>He blinks the sleet from his eyes as he trudges his way across the lawn of Lake View to the stables. He left his luggage at the station, hiring a cab directly out to the manor. Putting belongings back could wait until tomorrow or forever. For now, there is only one thing on Michael's mind: the soft yellow light from Albert's loft.</p><p>The trap door is closed, of course. Albert isn't expecting him this time, but it doesn't stop Michael. He needs to see Albert, needs a break from all the useless pomp expected from his circumstances. Needs to talk about the dreams, the memories of what he saw alone on the rock. He just needs someone to listen.</p><p>Climbing the ladder, Michael steadies himself with one hand and loudly knocks at the wooden door with the other. </p><p>"What in the blazes..." He hears the scuffle of Albert's boots across the floorboards until the trapdoor is pulled up, and his weather-burned face peers out into the gloom. "Michael? What are you doin' here?"</p><p>"Change of plans," he smiles, face blooming in warmth. "May I come up?"</p><p>"Sure, sure, before you catch your death." </p><p>Albert offers a hand and half pulls Michael into the loft. He latches the trapdoor behind. "The wind'll blow it open sometimes," Albert mutters by way of explanation. "The weather's being a right bloody mess. They say we're in for a blizzard tonight, can you believe it? A cold day in hell, I guess."</p><p>"Right," Michael nods, taking off his hat and brushing loose snow from his coat. "I guess I should have paid attention to the weather reports."</p><p>The loft is the same as it was in the summer, only colder now that the heat of day was gone. Old crates, barrels, and miscellaneous equipment are stored haphazardly amongst Albert's things. A table and chair are pushed against a wall, a stump of a candle burning on an old saucer. A broken rocking chair with deflated cushions sits invitingly close by as if expecting company at any moment. Before the little window hangs a hurricane lamp offering a soft glow. What Michael presumes is Albert's bed appears to be a nest of assorted quilts and comforters each at different stages of life, some better off used for rags, others considerably newer.</p><p>"Sorry there's no fire--still no chimney, you know--but you can take a quilt if you like."</p><p>"Oh no, I--" Michael sputters. "No thank you. I don't mean to trouble you." What was he thinking just showing up unannounced in the cold of night? Albert must think he's finally gone stark raving mad.</p><p>Albert shrugs. "No trouble at all." He rifles through an opened crate and grins, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "Or would this work better?"</p><p>Michael nods and smiles again, setting his hat down on a barrel and pulling the broken rocking chair closer to the table.</p><p>"So to what do I owe this pleasure?" Albert drawls, pouring the drinks. "I thought you was going off for the winter."</p><p>"A change of plans," Michael signs, pulling off his gloves. "I couldn't stomach traveling after all."</p><p>Albert hums, taking a sip. "Don't tell me it's about them sheilas again. 'Cause you know there's no way the other two are alive."</p><p>"No, no, you're right. But I suppose that is a part of it." Michael swirls the amber liquid round his glass. "I just can't stop thinking about them. Or dreaming about them really."</p><p>"Oh," Albert quirks a knowing eyebrow. "What sort of dreams? Like--"</p><p>"Nothing so crude, Albert."</p><p>The smirk falls off Albert's face, remembering the morning Michael never came back. "Right, I was only teasing. Sorry."</p><p>Michael takes a swig, reveling in the burning sensation as the alcohol goes down. He purses his lips and considers his words for a moment. "No, I know what you meant to do. But you remember finding Miss Leopold too. You were the one to help carry her down."</p><p>"So nightmares then," Albert nods. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm still having them too."</p><p>"It makes you wonder if they're still out there somehow, trying to communicate. But they can only reach you in your dreams."</p><p>Albert goes to take a drink but reconsiders it, and he drains his glass in one go, not caring if it burns or not. As happy as he was to see Michael again, this conversation was taking a turn into something he'd rather forget. The image of Michael, blood in his face and leg bent under him, like an animal offered for sacrifice below the rock was not a thing he wanted to remember. If the room were brighter and if he could brush the hair off Michael's forehead, Albert is sure he could find the scar from that day.</p><p>They sit in the familiar companionable silence they've shared before time and again. If it wasn't for the subject matter, this was only a late night reunion between two old friends. Sharing a bottle of whiskey in the small loft room, in the beginnings of a winter storm, the soft candlelight makes everything feel cozy. The whole world could be buried in snow but for this moment in time and neither man would care. And yet the unspoken words still sting the back of Albert's throat, waiting for months to be released.</p><p>"I dreamed about you, you know." His voice sounds hoarse as if he just swallowed nails, as if he had broken something. "It was when you stayed behind at the rock. I hardly slept that night." Albert stares at the candle flame flickering softly between them, unable or not wanting to meet Michael's eyes. "You kept calling out to me. Shouting like you was in pain or whispering like you were right here with me, trying to get me to wake up. I don't know how I stayed here sleeping until sunup."</p><p>Michael shifts in his chair, leaning his body closer to the table. "Maybe it was a good thing you had those dreams. Maybe they helped you find me."</p><p>Albert laughs darkly, reaching across for Michael's glass to take a drink. "Scared the living daylights out of me is all they did. I shouldn't have left you there." He looks at Michael's face, hardly touched by the sun and protected by a life of unknown luxury. "You could've died or disappeared just as those girls, you know. I didn't know what I'd find there on that morning."</p><p>Michael can see the tears forming in Albert's eyes as they remember what happened that night. "I'm sorry for putting you through that, Albert," Michael says, voice scarcely a whisper. He reaches a hand across the table like an offering, a tentative line to hold in the dark. Albert stares at it for a moment before taking it into his own. It isn't as soft as he thought it would be, a small proof of Michael's resolve to defy expectations, but it feels as if it was made for him alone to hold. </p><p>Albert barely registers the sound of Michael's chair falling backwards as the other man steps forward to pull him into a kiss, hands tugging at his collar. Michael's lips are chapped and Albert knows his stubble must itch the other's face, but neither man can care about such details now, not with Michael desperate to close the distance and Albert pulling him forwards.</p><p>They've been dancing around this for too long, between shared bottles of liquor and secret rendezvous in cramped sheds. A collision was inevitable. Not even prized heiress Miss Irma Leopold stood a chance, no matter how much the Fitzhuberts did to encourage the match. Their beginnings, like the unsolved disappearances and the closing college, started with that Valentine picnic and the bottle of champagne passed between them. Love still bloomed even with the world crumbling apart around them.</p><p>Albert's hands tangle into Michael's hair, trying to find an anchor point before he's swept away for good. Of course he imagined there was more to Michael's sudden return, but he never expected this and not from shy, fumbling Michael. Michael who acted like sharing bottles was the same as kissing, like he'd somehow never seen a man naked before and refused to see Albert for a full day afterwards. This same Michael who is now clinging to Albert's shirt like it was driftwood. This same Michael with his tongue between Albert's teeth and their lungs filling with each other's air. By all past experiences, this was unfathomable.</p><p>At some point the table shakes, knocking the whiskey bottle around. The sound snaps Albert back into the reality of a small wooden loft with a candle in danger of igniting anything.</p><p>He pulls back, hands still entwined with Michael's and breathing heavily. "Let's not set my home on fire," he says slowly, looking around carefully for no stray embers. "Then I'd really be in a bind."</p><p>Michael is somehow an even deeper shade of red, hair mussed and disheveled, lips glistening in the light. "I'm sorry," he smiles sheepishly. "I guess I got carried away."</p><p>"It's alright. Let's just come away from the table," Albert says, pulling Michael over to the bed. "Unless you don't-"</p><p>"Well, I, uh," Michael clears his throat, somehow agonizingly self-aware again. "I didn't come in to just talk." He slips his winter coat off and tosses his suit jacket aside. He catches Albert's gaze and grins in spite of his blush. </p><p>"Oh. You're staying the night then?" The question sounds stupid as soon as it was out of his mouth. Of course Michael would stay! It's snowing outside, the main house is locked up, and they were just kissing a minute ago.</p><p>Michael's hands stop at undoing his tie. "If you'll let me. I can always--"</p><p>"Why would I ever send you away?"</p><p>This time, they knock into the bed in the middle of their kiss, with Albert pushing Michael down onto the cot. It's too small, of course, a thin mattress meant only for one person. But they'll make it work after months of meeting in the margins.</p><p>Michael's fingers curl against Albert's scalp as Albert presses a knee between his legs. Albert's brain is firing at full speed with things to take stock of: where he last stashed the small bottle of oil, how to pull back long enough to kick off boots and not rip apart Michael Honorable Fitzhubert's entire bloody wardrobe, if Michael would even be comfortable with what using the oil entails. But he's moaning now into Albert's mouth and coherent plans can take a leap.</p><p>All the same, Albert breaks away before they get any further to yank off his boots. Michael groans at the loss but begrudgingly obliges. "If you really are serious about Queensland and renouncing your title, well," Albert chuckles, slipping out of his jacket, "this part will go by quicker."</p><p>Michael hums in agreement, falling back onto the bed again to begin unbuttoning his waistcoat.</p><p>"Christ, how many layers do you lot wear? Your shirts look worse than petticoats," Albert sighs, pulling off his own shirt already and tossing it aside. He notices Michael's lingering gaze, freely drinking in the sight now unlike that one summer's day.</p><p>Michael chuckles, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "It's not as bad. I've been told corsets are worse."</p><p>"Maybe not here in the winter," Albert tosses the insufferable waistcoat aside to join the long-forgotten jacket. "But it's amazing you don't die of the heat in summer."</p><p>"'A gentleman never allows himself to bow to the weather,'" Michael recites in a soft voice as Albert begins to help him with the last set of buttons. "Talk about nonsense."</p><p>"And what do they say about blokes like me, I wonder."</p><p>Michael watches Albert as he works his way down, the mermaid tattoos on his forearms writhing with each movement. "I don't want to know and I don't care." Michael pulls the other man down for a kiss, their lips parting in a trail of saliva. "All the rules I've spent my life in haven't done a damn good thing for me or anyone around me. We're all just telling ourselves stories to pretend we haven't made our own misery."</p><p>"Well that's cheery," Albert sighs, finally done with the last infernal shirt button. Goosebumps speckle Michael's torso as Albert moves closer, pressing kisses into the flesh below.</p><p>"It's the truth," Michael gasps, unused to such attention. "I think I'd be happier if I lived like you, doing something meaningful with my own two hands."</p><p>"It's a hard life. No more fancy clothes or posh dinners. No choice but to be in the sun at all hours," Albert murmurs against his skin, fingers dipping into the waistband of his trousers. He pulls them down past the other's hips as Michael shifts upwards, finally being rid of his last articles of clothing in one go. </p><p>Michael cups Albert's face in his hands, tilting it back to meet his gaze. "The hardships will be worth it if I can spend my life with you."</p><p>Albert smiles, grabbing one of Michael's hands and presses a kiss into the palm, and Michael wonders if it is possible to die from love, from this ache burning a hole in his chest. He drops his hands to rest at Albert's hips, fingers fumbling with the buttons on Albert's pants until they're finally loose and falling off his hips, thrown aside to the floor.</p><p>Michael pulls Albert closer and their bodies finally connect, chest to chest and hip to hip. No tables between them, no watchful eyes to separate them. Nothing but the air and shared body heat.</p><p>Albert's tongue is warm and rough against his as they kiss, a fire growing between them. His fingers tug at Michael's hair, shifting his hips just so, and Michael barely suppresses a moan. He can hardly believe it, can barely contain his hands running over Albert's body. If Albert is the rock in the storm, Michael feels like the waves breaking against it, always reaching for that stability but never quite holding it.</p><p>Albert laughs into the kiss, taking Michael's hands in his own and holding them still against the mattress. "Mike, Mike, Mike," he whispers, like a private litany between their lips. "We've got all the time. Calm down."</p><p>Michael can only buck his hips haphazardly upwards in response, desperate for more. His heart is pounding in his ears, face aflame, but he <em>wants</em> so badly, and Albert is taking it too slow, planting soft kisses at his throat of all things. </p><p>"Please." It sounds like begging, like the start of a fervent prayer, but Michael has been dreaming of this encounter for months, maybe even years, back at university when all he had was a secret collection of erotica and his own hand. Not that he ever attempted anything more, not after too many people already talked disapprovingly of his small build and foppish ways and word could all too easily get back to Lord Fitzhubert. But this is now at the ends of the earth and Albert is here, above him and gloriously naked, and he could scream at the distance that still remains.</p><p>Albert pulls away slightly to look directly at him, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you sure? It's gonna hurt."</p><p>"I don't care," Michael swallows, "I already told you. It's worth it if it's you."</p><p>"Right. Well, so long as you're sure." Albert pulls away to reach out for the small bottle of oil tucked away into a small niche in the wall. Michael watches him all the same, appreciating the flex of his chest as Albert goes through a routine unknown to Michael.</p><p>Albert leans back to kiss him, full and slow, before asking Michael to prop a leg up. Steadying him with one hand, Albert inserts an oiled finger and moves slowly, looking for Michael's reaction.</p><p>"It's..." Michael frowns, not knowing what to call it. Different? New? </p><p>"Not what you was expecting," Albert chuckles. He hooks the finger and swirls it around, still hoping he could find that one spot. Clicking his tongue, he withdraws to add a second finger. "This may sting a bit," he warns.</p><p>Michael flinches at the stretch, the odd sensation of being filled in a region normally left ignored. It burns slightly until Albert's fingers reach and brush against something that makes his gut flood with warmth. He breathes out a shaky gasp when Albert does it again.</p><p>"Are you ready," Albert asks, a hint of humor in his voice.</p><p>"God, <em>yes</em>."</p><p>Albert grabs the bottle again, this time using its contents to rub his cock. The image of it glistening in the oil sears into Michael's brain, better than all the pictures he's ever seen. Unplanned by either, they hold their breath as Albert guides himself in, slowly and carefully, inch by inch.</p><p>Michael lets out a sigh as he adjusts, swiveling his hips on impulse and causing Albert to groan in response. All the preparation and care has left him feeling like a bowstring about to snap with the knowledge of what's to come. But still Albert wants to take it slow, remembers all too well the pains that can happen by less courteous bedfellows. And the last thing Albert wants is to put Michael in pain, either by his own hand or inaction. Albert leans in to cup Michael's face kisses him, tongue sliding down as he begins to slowly thrust. </p><p>The movement has Michael seeing stars, head tipping back as if there is something new to see beyond the slanted ceiling. Albert stares, transfixed by the sight, before he leans in to suck a mark at the base of Michael's throat. </p><p>Michael wraps his arms around Albert, trying to keep hold on something, anything, that feels sturdier than he does. The heat in his gut is boiling now, his breathing growing harsher. "Oh, Albert," he sighs, sounding breathless and close to a wreck. In another moment, he feels as if he could fly.</p><p>Michael always uses his full name, never the shorter version, the showcase of familiarity if not equal footing. Albert, Albert, Albert. From the lips of a man with a title, a man who brushes it aside for a simple Mike. It's unthinkable to Albert's upbringing, his experiences. Names, especially full proper names, have power. And Michael knew this too, but he still flew at the face of it, the last vestiges of nobility.</p><p>And Albert wonders if he could just melt, just cease being him and become someone else entirely with Michael. A brand new person formed from their union. Death and rebirth all in one.</p><p>Reaching a hand between them, Albert strokes until Michael is shuddering, forehead resting on Albert's shoulder as he works through the release. Albert isn't much further behind, threading his fingers into Michael's as he whispers his name into the other man's lips.</p><hr/><p>Afterwards, after Albert cleans them off and kisses Michael once, twice, thrice, they stay together in Albert's small bed, legs entwined and passing a cigarette between them. They talk into the night. About everything and nothing. </p><p>The college was definitely closing, leaving so many looking for work. Tom and Minnie were getting married. Michael received only one correspondence from his father, congratulating him on the now-extinct betrothal. </p><p>"You know, I came back for you. I told them all I had forgotten something here," Michael begins, staring at his hands. They were unscathed, uncalloused. The hands of a gentleman protected by 3 kinds of gloves and unskilled in matters beyond penmanship and escorting ladies at luncheons. "Trying to go back into my old life, it didn't feel right. And not just because of the missing girls." Michael sighs and looks up meeting Albert's gaze. "I can't stand high society anymore, Albert. Nobody bloody listens to you unless you say what they want to hear. Nobody bothers to think unless it's to plan a soirée or God knows what other frivolity. In all honesty, I think I'll go mad returning as the 'Honorable Michael Fitzhubert, desired bachelor for Australian and English ladies alike, heir to a seat in the House of Lords'."</p><p>"And that's why you want to go up to Queensland, right," Albert exhales in a plume of smoke,"to get out of it?"</p><p>"Exactly. And my offer still stands. I really want you to join me," Michael offers with a fond smile.</p><p>Albert returns the smile only to frown a moment later. "I still can't just get up and leave my job, Mike. I can't do that to ol' Fitzhubert."</p><p>"I know but--" Michael can feel his pulse quicken, his hand reaching out for Albert's by impulse. "Tom will be needing work, and I think my uncle will accept him and Minnie with no problems, so it can work out. We can make it work."</p><p>Albert wraps a calloused hand around his in return and squeezes. "Someday. I promise, I'll go with you. The first chance I get."</p><p>"Anytime. I'll wait."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just want to say I thought about ending it without the sex scene, but if I didn't write it then who would?? </p><p>But anyways I live knowing it's 100% canon that Albert and Michael run off to Queensland together in the end. Also god help me if watching the 2018 miniseries awakens any other urges to write. This was just indulgence gone way out of hand. Dare I say I have pined, I have yearned in this new age of distance? </p><p>Thank you for reading ♡ </p><p>P.S. Did they take their socks off? Or did they leave them on? Who knows! I'm tired of writing clothing. The Victorians were nonsense. If I ever write them again they're gonna be skinny dipping and already half-naked.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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